


Reeted and Weep

by orphan_account



Category: Captain Underpants Series - Dav Pilkey, Captain Underpants: The First Epic Movie (2017)
Genre: and two livid resturaunt workers, oh my god this was so much fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-04-06 18:25:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14062809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Meek and mild mannered Walter Reeted, a history teacher at Jerome Horwitz Elementary, finally gets his wish of going on a date with Edith Anthrope, the one and only school secretary.It doesn't go as planned.





	Reeted and Weep

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my god this was such fun.  
> Okay, so Walter is owned by Tigerblack62 - who is a lovely, lovely individual. They asked for a story of their OC going on a date with Anthrope and having it go horribly wrong.  
> Needless to say, I had a blast.

      She was late. 

      Sitting there, on the plastic covered benches La Vida Dulce had set up in their foyer to allow their waiting guests to rest, Walter sat. 

      And had been sitting. 

      For over half an hour. 

      Because she was late. 

      You know where this is going. The unfortunate fact of the matter is I am sure you’ve been here just as often as Walter has. 

      Outside, rain pummeled the sidewalks and rooftops with that certain sort of fury only early spring seems to have. It hadn’t been raining when he arrived, but a lot can happen within the span of thirty minutes when you’re not watching. Besides, he was preoccupied. Walter had arrived bouncing and nervous, assuring the host that no, no he’d stay here, it would be fine, she’d come eventually, but now, that energy was gone. He watched nobody and nothing but the grout between the tiles just to the left of his feet, his brain having achieved that sort of numbing nirvana that boredom brings. Chewing absentmindedly on the button of his cuff he stared, face slack, as a single ant navigated the criss-crossing pattern of the tilework, marching slowly in the direction of his feet. For a moment, he entertained the notion, like we all have, that perhaps he should call her, just to double check that she remembered he was here, but then the thought sank and once more, there was nothing. 

      Nothing but the ant and the cuff button. 

      Nothing but that fuzzy sound that seemed to stuff his skull.

      He wondered, maybe, if he should just cancel. Walter had this happen before, of course, and he could prepare himself for the kinds of looks he’d get from the host and whoever the host had been talking to as he explained that the company he had been expecting was caught up elsewhere, but no- no he knew she would come. She’d make it eventually, she had promised. It would be fine. 

      And then there was a cough. 

      He blinked slowly, the point of his incisor digging into a hole in the button as he processed the sound until it clicked with him and he shot to his feet. 

      “Ms. Anthrope,” he said, voice cracking around her name as his face flushed, “Hello!”

      Edith hummed, raising her eyebrows and chin in acknowledgment even while she focused on cleaning her glasses off on her cardigan, so he tried again. 

      “Jerome Horwitz’s one and only secretary looking lovely as ever, I see.”  

      She did flash him a look at that, though her jaw was cocked at such an angle that, had he any thought about it, would have indicated that she was less than pleased about the compliment. 

      The unfortunate fact of the matter is that he did not. 

      Instead, he rushed to the podium and gleefully informed the host that he and, “-the lovely lady who just walked in- yes- I mean her over there- no we’re good that’s just her face,” were ready to take their seats. 

      I will take a moment to say that yes, the host knew this was going to go down in flames. They’d seen this sort of thing enough times to know. If they had to bet, they thought, taking the couple to their seat, they’d put their money on the man currently sweating through his tweed jacket had probably pestered and prodded the poor woman onto going on this date. However, and this was something they were conscious of as well when they moved aside and let the woman tumble gracelessly into the booth, she looked less than pleasant. The expression on her face gave them the same general feeling that soured milk did, or a particularly foul smelling bit of dog poop. Perhaps, they concluded, this was just a horrible combination of errors, much like their last marriage. They took a moment to pray that the poor man, still sweating and shaking, would not make the same mistake that they did. 

      Instead of conveying any of this, they said, in a clipped tone, “Your server will be right with you. In the meantime, might I get you both something to drink?” 

      “Oh,” Walter rubbed his hands together gleefully, “Oh ah, um, do-do you have water?” 

      The hose sniffed then, eyebrows raising delicately, “I do believe so, sir.”

      “Oh good! I’ll have a glass of water then.”

      “Yes-” 

      “Lost of ice, please.”  

      “Alright-”

      “And a glass of ice on the side.” 

      “...Alright.” 

      “Thank you.” 

      Walter smiled, picking up his menu and flipping to the dinner page as the host turned to Edith.

      “And you, ma’am?” he heard them ask.

      “Wine.” 

      Walter put the menu back down, chuckling until he saw the hosts’ look of discomfort. 

      “She’s joking,” he said, “We’ve just got- it’s a case of the nerves. First date, and all- all of- you know.” 

      But he’d be daft if he couldn’t see Edith mouthing, ‘I’m not joking’ to them- he wasn’t blind. Still, he chalked it up to a bit of jitters. To be fair, he felt like he was going to crawl out of his own skin, hence he had gotten all the ice. He was going to need that. 

      “We don’t have wine until after 5, ma’am.” 

      “We’re at 4:45.” 

      “That’s still not 5 o’clock.” 

      Edith sighed, “I’ll take an ice tea then, but come back in fifteen minutes.” 

      The host hastened away, hoping to get out of the blast radius of the trouble they saw brewing at that table. The faster they could get away from that couple, the better their life would be. Truth be, they had enough drama going on in the back to fule ten nuclear blasts, enough to wipe out 50 kilometers of life, or the entire livable portion of the state of Ohio. Their duty to their country, they thought bitterly as they scurried away, was to keep that explosion from going off, or so help them god, they would not get paid.

      It was a wise decision. 

      Walter smiled at Edith, though she did not smile back, and flipped open his menu once more. “So,” he said, running a finger down the pasta dishes, “How is that medical drama you like so much going?”

      “Got canceled.” 

      “Oh no, what happened?”

      “The lead got charged with tax evasion and fled the country.” 

      “Oh...that’s a shame.” 

      She gave no reply other than a grunt, flipping her menu up so that it formed a wall between them. Walter, unfortunately, was not deterred. 

      “What about that concert you were planning on going to with your mom?”

      “Canceled.” 

      “Oh jeeze, that too? I’m so-” 

      “It’s a little hard to stand in a crowd when you’ve just lost your leg.” 

      Walter paled, setting the menu down, “When was this? Is she okay?”

      “I don’t know, what do you think?”

      “But- but what even happened?” 

      “It’s her own fault,” he heard Edith mumble, and from where he sat, he could see her shoulders hunch as she continued, “Didn’t matter what I said- she kept going out on those ladies nights, and I told her one of these days someone wasn’t going to return it.” 

      “Oh...well...at least...what-” 

      “Your drinks.” 

      “Thank you!” Walter could have kissed the server that appeared at their table, so relieved by the fact he had an out from the subject at hand, “Thank you so much for being so timely!”  

      Now, I will tell you, the server had been warned about the table by the host, who still had more important things to deal with considering their sous chef had, in a drunken rage, just walked out the back door and straight into traffic. A normal Thursday evening, for all intents and purposes, but still, that meant less help was readily available were something to go wrong. As such, the server was prepared to simply smile and nod as much as physically possible, which they started doing right away as they pulled out a pencil and a pad of paper, asking, “Do you guys know what you would like to have?” 

      “Yes!” said Walter, flipping his menu back open and pointing, “I’ll have the pasta fusilli, but please, could you make sure there’s no cheese in it? Outside of that, I’m good.”

      The server nodded and smiled and wrote that down, then turned to Edith, “And you-” 

      “The roasted garlic shrimp.” 

      “Got it, excellent, anything else I can get you?” 

      “Wine.” 

      “We don’t serve alcoholic beverage before the hour of 5, ma’am.” 

      Edith rolled her eyes, and the server did their best to leave quickly. 

      “So,” Walter tapped his fingers, looking from the salt and pepper shakers to Edith and back again, trying to take advantage of the newfound silence, especially since the previous crisis had been avoided flawlessly, “So...how was work?” 

      “You work there too.” 

      “Yes, but unfortunately not anywhere near where you are.” 

      Edith sighed again, “I’d really rather not talk about it.” 

      “Oh, oh that’s fair.” 

      “It’s just- it’s such a drag, you know?” 

      Walter nodded his head as she sipped her ice tea, “I can’t imagine how much you do. I don’t blame you for not wanting to-” 

      “And Krupp, oh my god- count your lucky stars you don’t have to put up with him every day.” 

      “...I bet it’s very taxing. I don’t blame you if you don’t want to talk about-” 

      “‘Anthrope do this’ and ‘Anthrope do that’ and ‘Anthrope do some other damn thing.’” 

      Walter started playing with the ice in his glass, “Well you have a very important position, and I’m sure he relies on you a lot.” 

      “Relies on me to do his job and mine, more like,” she snorted into her drink, “Fat lug just sits in his office, diddling around with paperwork and making phone calls. Yeah, like that’s a lot of trouble.” 

      “Well, as you said, best to leave work at work,” he mumbled, popping the ice cube into his mouth and biting down.

      “And then nobody can get me their paperwork on time. I’m still waiting for that refund request from Meaner about his basketballs.” 

      Walter nodded, chewing on his ice as he listened to her continue on.

      And on.

      And on. 

      If it wasn’t Meaner and his lack of receipts, it was the lunch lady and her inability to apparently file the inventory correctly. It spanned the gamut from how the state required her to file IEP’s to how her computer was so old it wasn’t use fixing anymore. You could have filled a case to be brought before the supreme court with how much information she spouted about her grievances, but were you to ask what the angel she was going for, I think the only actual answer she could have given you was that she wanted some respect for all of her troubles. 

      Were you to ever ask anyone else about her troubles, they would have most likely rolled their eyes and sighed, leaving that to be enough of an explanation. 

      Walter, however, did not. Walter, in fact, though he did not understand all the particular ins and outs of what Edith did, did in fact try to be sympathetic.

      Edith was less than appreciative. 

      “And you,” she said, pointing at him with her straw,“You haven’t gotten me your paperwork either.” 

      Walter’s hand was halfway into his almost empty glass, trying to pick out another ice cube when he froze, “What paperwork?” 

      “You ordered those blue test booklets and have yet to get me the refund form, you keep talking about a field trip but haven’t yet filed a request for busses, you still need to state and complete your intent to return documentation,” Edith counted them off on her fingers, glaring at him over the rim of her glasses as she did so, “You still have to sign a release saying that the bird that got into the building was your fault-” 

      “I keep saying this- the bird wasn’t my fault!”

      “It came in through your window.” 

      “Because the window is broken, but that’s not my fault!” 

      “Well, that’s not my problem. You either need to sign the release or you need to fill out a formal work order requesting the window be fixed.” 

      “I did! Months ago!” 

      “If you did, I would have gotten it.” 

      “But I handed it to you!”  

      Edith bristled, “Are you calling me a liar, or are you saying I can’t do my job? Which one is it, please enlighten me.” 

      “I-,” Walter wilted, “I- no- I just- I know I handed it to you-” 

      “Clearly, you didn’t.” 

      “Oh...I’m- I’m sorry.” 

      “Thank you,” she said, pulling her bag towards her, “I picked up some blanks for you, so you would actually have the right stuff.” 

      “But-” 

      Before he could finish, a short stack of papers was thrust towards him, just as their dinner rounded the corner. The server, having done some breathing exercises with the help of a coworker, was now fully prepared for the onslaught with a smile and countdown timer going in their head, slowly ticking towards the second they could bolt away again. 

      “Which one of you ordered the pasta fusilli?” They said, through clenched but glinting teeth. 

      Walter raised the hand not preoccupied with trying to hold onto the stack of papers Edith had thrown at him. As the dish was set down though, the server already could tell there was a problem from the look they were given.

      “I- I’m so sorry- I said no cheese.” 

      Well, they couldn’t fault the man for that one. That was kinda a direct request. The server swiftly stood again, pulling the plate back, “I’m so terribly sorry, I’ll have the cook remake it.” 

      “Thank you- I’m just allergic.” 

      “Totally understand. Should take about another five to ten minutes. I hope you don’t mind the delay.” 

      “No no, it’s quite alright.” 

      Edith snorted, rolling her eyes, and the server had to restrain themselves from causing a scene by instead asking as sweetly as possible, “And I assume then you are the individual who ordered the roasted garlic shrimp?”

      She gestured as though it were obvious. To her credit, it was, but the server didn’t have to like it. If they placed her plate down with a bit more force than intended, well, those things just happened, didn't’ they.

      “Anything else to drink?” They asked, pad and pencil in hand once more.   
      Walter opened his mouth, but Edith cut him off, “Wine.” 

      The server checked their wristwatch. Two minutes till the hour...well, they could make it work, “We have-” 

      “Chardonnay.” 

      “...Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer a sauvignon blanc? We also have a lovely white rioja-” 

      “I’ll have the chardonnay.” 

      They sighed, closing their eyes for a moment. They were 34. They had a Masters in Philosophy with a focus on Mesopotamian Cultures. They had years traveling abroad in East Asia assisting in dig sites and labs. They had their thesis paper published in multiple academic journals which, even now, they were sure, was being plagiarized by drunken college kids all across America, coping and pasting what chunks of text they could from Jstor previews. That didn’t matter a lick though. That gave them absolutely nothing. It didn’t even allow them the privilege to scold a bitch for her shit taste in wine pairings. 

      What a life.

      They penciled down her request, smiling and nodding the entire time, “Sure, okay, and you sir?” 

      “Oh I- I’m fine.” 

      “Right,” they stuffed their notes back into their pocket, “I’ll be back in a couple of minutes,” and just like that, they bolted. 

      Walter turned his attentions back to the stack of papers in his hand as Edith took a bite out of her shrimp, chewing loudly as she said, “Shame about your food.” 

      “Yup,” he mumbled, fishing another ice cube out of his glass and biting down hard on it as he dug through his bag for a pen. This date was going...well, frankly, it was horrible, but he could fix it. Clearly she was just in a bad mood because of the documentation, so the faster he got that done the faster they could go back to enjoying themselves. 

     So he worked. 

      Edith munched through her shrimp as he scribbled, telling him where to fill in, where not to fill in, no he was doing it wrong, no didn’t he listen to her, it asked for you to print your name not sign it- and he bore the brunt because, well, he should have gotten this to her. I tell you, Walter was very good at ignoring that nagging voice at the back of his head telling him he had done all of this already. In fact, it was because he was so good at ignoring that little voice that he had asked her out in the first place...and the fifth place… and the 29th place but- hey- he got what he wanted, didn’t he? 

      A date with the wonderful…

      Maybe less than wonderful… 

      Perhaps...just a tad awful...

      By the time he had finished everything to her satisfaction and handed it back to her, she was done her shrimp and was packing up to leave as the server was rounding the corner with his pasta. Walter only had time to raise a hand in warning when one crashed into the other and, for one glorious moment, pasta and wine rained down from the heaven as though Bacchus himself were telling him to eat and drink his misery away, because this- all of this- was the worst idea Walter had yet gone through with in his short life. Edith tumbled back into the booth, her legs kicking up as one heel flew over the partition just as the server stumbled forward and cracked their head on the low hanging lamp above the table before falling to the floor limp. 

      In the moment of silence that swept the restaurant, Walter sighed, his head leaning into one hand as the other slowly fed scattered noodles into his mouth, resigned to the fact that he was never, ever, going to be allowed back into this restaurant, let alone back into the secretarial office at Jerome Horwitz. 

      Shame… he liked the pasta here. 

      The same could no longer be said for Ms. Edith Anthrope. 


End file.
